Cartoonists

Over the years, every so often I've found myself wishing I could draw and be a cartoonist. If you come back as something, I'd like to come back as a cartoonist.

Comic books gave way to adult comic books, magazines and newspapers. Look, Saturday Evening Post, Playboy, and of course The New Yorker . And any newspaper with an editorial cartoon, of which the New York Times has steadfastly abstained from having, but does do reprints of  cartoons published by others in a Sunday section.

I distinctly remember waiting in my doctor's waiting room sometime in the late 60s and looking through Look magazine and coming across a Richter cartoon that showed two Arabs on a prayer rug in the desert, with one getting up and announcing, "Hold it, I think we're facing Israel." I tore it out of the magazine.

If you follow the genre of obituaries, you might be aware that it seems a good deal of the community of cartoonists who have been published in The New Yorker are now showing up dead. The obituary for the latest to pass away, Jack Ziegler, informs us that seven New Yorker cartoonists have died in the past year. What's going on? Are they being targeted by someone who hacked in the HR records and found out where they lived?

Of course not. Just as many scientists,writers, entertainers, and more, have passed away in the last year. As an occupation, being a cartoonist popular enough to rate a tribute obituary on the New York Times, means you probably did work that was published regularly in the New Yorker. The New Yorker being one of the last publications left that uses cartoons in their editions.

Editorial cartoons are my favorite. They skewer the days' events and the makers of the news, usually currently elected politicians. I've been given and bought many published cartoon collections. One of my favorites was Herbert Block, Herblock. When President Lyndon Johnson had gall bladder surgery he, for some reason, lifted his shirt and showed the press corps the scar from the surgery.

Herblock drew this, showing the president showing off his scar: an outline of a map of Southeast Asia, To me, that kind of cartoonist made me envious.

At times, I've thought in terms of an image with a tag line I've supplied. When my household was younger and filled with two kids in pursuit of competitive swimming, running, and my own pursuit of running, I imaged a Chon Day, or George Price cartoon of our front door being drawn as two gym locker doors, with our address as the numbers on the doors and two people coming to call, with one who says to the other. "This family is very into sports."

So, here we are this past Monday, with a four page spread of the Irish Sport Page in the NYT. There are even color photos. Mondays can be a busy day in the print section because the editor thoughtfully reprints obituaries that appeared on Sunday and that I only got to read online. Thus, when someone like Jack Ziegler passes away, there is a print copy that includes come examples of his work. Online, you got a nice gallery of 15 cartoons throughout his career, but you can't make hard copies that will appear with the obituary's text.

There are those who might recall one of my sentiments ts that the best we can hope for in life is to be remembered affectionately. Cartoonists are remembered even more fondly.

The soon-to-retire editor of New Yorker cartoons, Bob Mankoff, so deftly describes Mr. Ziegler and his work, that Richard Sandomir uses it as the last word: "This was an imagination off the leash."

It's no wonder I always wished I could draw.


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